


an unnecessary sacrifice

by autumnchills



Series: halloween chills [3]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Arachnophobia, Bad Touch, Blood, Blood and Injury, Concussions, Cutting, Eddie Is Arachnophobic, Established Relationship, Halloween, Human Sacrifice, Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Evan "Buck" Buckley, Kidnapping, M/M, Manhandling, Memory Loss, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Restraints, Sacrifice, Whump, because I said so, read the author notes!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27323158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnchills/pseuds/autumnchills
Summary: No one actually minds any of it— all the small jump scares from supply closets or boos accompanied by a strong grip on the arms. It’s the one day they can all goof around and be so lighthearted without being reprimanded for it because even Bobby finds it all funny.But it means no one is prepared for things to get serious when the power goes out.—Buck gets kidnapped right from the station on Halloween, and it only makes sense that the rest of the story is just as crazy as that.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: halloween chills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994725
Comments: 14
Kudos: 313
Collections: 9-1-1 Tales





	an unnecessary sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soft_satan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_satan/gifts).



> **Trigger Warnings:** BLOOD! I describe some graphic injuries about Buck that are on his wrist, but are _not_ self-harm. Please read with caution!
> 
>  **Side Note:** I don’t know much about police, and I don’t like them either, so please ignore the mess that is the “investigation” from Athena’s point of view and just roll with it because it’s fan fiction and I’m tired

The day starts the same as any other Halloween at the 118 does. It doesn’t help that this year, the fun-filled holiday has landed on a Saturday, making for more shenanigans for people to get mixed up in. And it  _ definitely _ doesn’t help that the station’s crew members were getting up to their own hijinks.

Eddie had started his day off with a fake spider falling from a string in his locker. In Buck’s opinion, that edged a little closer to cruel than funny because the poor guy has a phobia, but after Eddie had got his initial scream and nerves out, he’d laughed and thrown the fake bug at the culprit. Usually, dealing with spiders has the man anxious for a while after, but the first call of the day had practically erased the encounter from his thoughts.

One of their other crew members, Johnny, was another victim of some targeted jokes. All throughout the afternoon, a few of his friends had been trying to misplace his stuff. Buck had even been handed the man’s wallet at one point, asked to leave it on the shelf with all the shower towels, while his friend ran off to be a distraction.

No one actually minds any of it— all the small jump scares from supply closets or  _ boos _ accompanied by a strong grip on the arms. It’s the one day they can all goof around and be so lighthearted without being reprimanded for it because even Bobby finds it all funny. 

But it means no one is prepared for things to get serious when the power goes out.

It’s just before sunset when it happens. It’s so loud because of all the noise that is suddenly  _ gone _ , from the television to the air conditioner, and it takes everyone by surprise, efficiently silencing them for a moment. Some of the sunlight flows in through the closed translucent bay doors and high windows that line the walls, but even the golden hour’s bright glow isn’t enough to illuminate the station well.

The immediate reaction is expected. A few people who’d been playing games groan in annoyance. From downstairs there are a couple of  _ ‘what happened’ _ callouts reaching up to the loft. Bobby sighs and takes some cautious steps over to the railing, motioning for his team to remain seated. Eddie and Hen are sitting at the table, Chim had excused himself for a phone call a few minutes ago, and Buck is downstairs helping Walter bring out boxes of some last-second Halloween decorations for the visitors that would be coming by as the sun started to set. The station had been decorated since the first week of the month, but the tables’ set up had been delayed.

“Okay,” Bobby starts, loud enough for anyone in the bay and loft to hear him, “I understand we’ve all been playing some jokes on each other today, but this—”

Bobby doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, interrupted by the sound of the back door opening. The act itself of a door opening isn’t very disruptive, but when he registers  _ which _ doors it is, he becomes filled with apprehension. They’re the ones on the back wall between the locker rooms and work out area, but considering they lead to the alley between this building and surrounding warehouses, they’re hardly utilized by anyone besides servicemen who sometimes check out their circuit breakers.

Daylight flows in, brighter than anything already entering the station, and a long shadow stretches across it. 

Standing in the doorway is a person.

“Buck?” Bobby calls out, unsure if it’s the younger man’s attempt to brighten the room.

But downstairs, Buck doesn’t register Bobby’s voice, too distracted by whoever does stand in the doorway. The switch from their bright fluorescent lights to the darkness then back again leaves the light nearly blinding him.

“Hey,” Buck calls, not unkindly as he steps toward the exit. “I’m sorry but you can’t enter through these doors. You’ll need to come around the front of the building and use our office.” His tone remains neutral, neither rude nor too soft, and his voice carries through the silent station. No one speaks as if it’s an unspoken agreement that  _ something  _ is off, so shut up and pay attention.

_ Those doors shouldn’t even be unlocked _ , most of them think. 

Buck raises a hand to try and shield his eyes and squint at the figure. A man, Buck guesses, based on the build and height, though he can’t see a face. He does see the person’s head turn, surveying the room. The person’s unwavering posture says that they want to be there, but their inaction says they aren’t sure what to do with all of the attention. 

He waits for the person to say something, but as the silence-filled seconds tick by like minutes, Buck’s heart rate picks up, his body screaming  _ danger, danger, danger. _

The person steps forward into Buck’s space then, and he doesn’t quite catch that another person enters the building as a hand reaches out for his arm.

“Hey— wh—” He backs away. “Yo, back off!” Buck yells, shoving the stranger, and the station bursts into movement. Footsteps stampede and chairs skid across the floor as if an alarm has gone off. A couple of people shout, but Buck can’t respond because the person is not easily pushed aside. He grabs a hold of Buck’s forearm where it’s extended between them and advances on him again. 

This time, he raises his fist, ready to hit Buck. With no quick way out of the man’s tight grip that pulls him close, he raises one hand to shield his head, but another fist meets the stranger’s face first. The stranger’s head snaps to the side and the hand on his arm falls away. Buck glances to see who’s joined him; it’s Walter, the man he’d been helping. He’s one of the older guys at the station but arguably one of their strongest.

The attacker recovers too quickly, though, and from a bent position, he charges forward and rams into Walter’s stomach, sending the two of them into a weight set. A distinct cracking sound bursts through the small space and Buck leaps at the guy, immediately trying to pull him off of his crewmate. 

And Buck? Buck is in fight or flight mode at this point— he doesn’t know what these people want, but he’s not about to let them hurt him or anyone else without putting up a fight.

That attitude gets shot to shit when there’s a sharp pinch in his neck. He goes to slap his hand over the source of the pain, but his fingertips brush across another person’s hand, and just as Buck hears Eddie yell for him, a heavy wave of drowsiness hits him like a fire truck. 

It feels something like his last semester of college all over again— a battle to remain awake while the most boring and monotone lecture he’s ever heard is lulling him to sleep. And his body feels heavier than it did wading through the waters of the tsunami aftermath, the weight of the unseen pressure so heavy that he finds his legs buckling under him.

Arms catch him before he can hit the ground, and he finds his face smushed into the stranger’s chest, his arms folded between the man’s body and his own. 

The odor radiating off of him is rancid, and the smell itself is enough for him to remember where he is and what’s happening. Despite how heavy his limbs feel and how much he wants to just close his eyes for two seconds, this is  _ no _ time for him to fall asleep. 

With the last of his strength, Buck tries to push away, but his legs aren’t doing what he wants them to, and his arms don’t have the strength to break the man’s hold.

“Stop struggling,” the stranger grunts, tightening his hold on Buck. 

It makes him feel suffocated. 

“No,” he thinks he mumbles out, feeling his shoes glide across the ground.  _ They’re moving _ , his brain supplies. Where are they moving? 

“No!” He says again, sure that this time he got the words out, and tries to fight back with a renewed vigor.

“Buck!” he hears. Bobby’s voice sounds so far, but he knows there’s no way his captain is more than just seconds behind him.

The warmth of the outside air washes over Buck in time with another set of hands grabbing at his ankles. Then, his entire body is just floating. The air threads through the hair on Buck’s arms igniting his skin with goosebumps, and he can tell they’re moving faster now. 

And the thing is that Buck knows he’s in danger, knows he needs to be fighting back against his captors and whatever drug must be coursing through his body, but doing both is too much work.

_ Stay awake _ , he decides, because there’s no way he’s getting away now, not without help. Wasting his energy on getting away isn’t worth it when he knows there’s no chance.

He hears his name again before he’s dropped unceremoniously into a trunk. His head smacks the edge of the opening, and a hand presses against his face to push him the rest of the way in. 

Somewhere behind the soundproof walls in his brain that suffocate his senses, he registers pain. He’d bring his hand to his head if it didn’t feel like it weighed a hundred pounds. 

His name rings in his ears one more time, and then the lid is slamming down in front of him, plunging him into the pitch black.

“Damn it!” Bobby shouts. 

_ Seconds _ . He’d been seconds too late. But by the time he can even see the direction that the two people had run off in, their car was already skidding off at top speed, a door still hanging open. With no chance of catching up with the car without first going to get his keys from his office, he charges back into the station to see what he  _ can _ do.

Inside, the station is in shambles, completely untrained for a situation like this. Who were those people? Why did they take Buck? What did they  _ want _ with Buck?

“Walter and Eddie are out of commission,” Hen says as he steps back into the building, sounding somewhat out of breath as she strides up to Bobby. “Walter’s got a head lac. He needs to get to the hospital.”

“Okay,” he responds, then asks, “Is Chim available?”

“He’s with Eddie,” she states.

Bobby groans and turns to the room. “If no one has yet, someone, get the police on the phone now!”   


A distant, “Already on it!” comes back in response.

“Chambers!” Bobby calls out next. “You and Wilson get Walter loaded up and out of here! Rico and Jared, go get the bay doors open!” Hen takes off to follow orders.

The bay doors. They’d been closed because trick or treaters were due to arrive soon, and they hadn’t wanted any early visitors. 

“Make sure you close them up after they take off,” Bobby adds. The last thing they need is a bunch of kids and parents waltzing in while all of this chaos is underway.

“And how’s Eddie?” He asks as he approaches Chim. In his descent down the stairs, he’d seen Eddie five strides ahead of him, having nearly taken half of the staircase in a single bound. He might have even reached Buck if it weren’t for one of the figures lifting then slamming one of the smaller weights into the man’s chest.

Eddie had gone down hard and fast, gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him. Bobby hadn’t been able to spare a second to check on him at the time. Now, he’s laid across the ground, neck in a c-collar and looking a shade too pale, even in the dimly lit room.

“He got the wind properly knocked out of him,” Chim replies, “and I think he fractured his clavicle. He’s going to need x-rays.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie mutters from the ground, followed by a small gasp of pain as two other firefighters slide him onto a backboard. “Where’s Buck?”

“You’re not fine,” Bobby spits back, admittedly a little harsh. “And whoever those people were, they took him.”

“What?!” Several people sound off. 

“They didn’t take anything else?” Johnny asks.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Bobby says. He glances around in the darkened room. There isn’t much they could have taken from in here but weights— not without going further into the station. Considering the circumstances, Bobby’s pretty sure they got their target.

“Has anyone got the power?” He yells out next, just in time for the bright white to fill the station once again. He looks down at Eddie and eyes the area that’s been revealed by his unbuttoned uniform, watching as Chim cuts his shirt to reveal the skin below. He already has major bruising high on his chest. Bobby has some worries about his breast bone, too, now.

“Alright, let’s get him ready to get out of here,” Chim directs. Bobby backs up as Chim and another paramedic get Eddie situated on a stretcher.

He could hear sirens coming down the street now. 

“What about Buck?” Eddie asks through gritted teeth. “What do we do?”

Chimney shakes his head, grimacing. There isn’t anything they  _ can _ do. The police will just have to get here and do their job, and right now they can only focus on one emergency at a time. Walters was already heading out, and now it was time to get Eddie the attention he needed.

“I’ll worry about Buck,” the captain reassures him. “We’ll get him back. Chim, focus on getting Eddie in, and then I want you and anyone else you take with you back here ASAP.”

“On it, Cap.”

Within moments, the three of them are gone, racing out of the building as nearing blue and red lights fill the dimming sky.

Bobby surveys the remaining people. His usual team of twelve has just been knocked down to five.

What the hell had just happened?

_ Seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy…  _

Buck loses count again. He always gets caught up in the sixties or seventies as he battles the lights and shapes that aren’t actually there, dancing across his vision in the dark. Counting to one hundred and LA’s endless honking horns of traffic are all that keep him awake.

Well, his attempts at counting to one hundred… 

He’d be trying to beat a tail light out or even scream if he didn’t feel so detached from his body. Even breathing is a struggle, choosing to keep shallow breaths because bigger ones are harder to take in.

_ —seven, eighty-nine, ten, eleventy, eleventy-one _ — wait. That’s not how numbers work.

A particularly hard turn throws his thoughts to the wind and his body rolling, pressing his face into the floor of the trunk. Buck pants against the fabric.

_ Breathe _ , he tells himself.  _ Breathe _ . That’s all he has to do.

“Breathe,” a voice rings, breaking Buck out of whatever thoughts his mind had been wandering off to and getting lost in. The voice is deep, like a man’s, and Buck can feel the vibration of the voice from where his head is pressed into their chest.

Coming back to consciousness is like waking from a deep yet restless sleep— the kind he hasn’t had since he was in the hospital. He can still feel the heaviness in his limbs and inability to control any movement in his body, meaning that the drug is still in his system. It also means they couldn’t have been gone from the station for long, but he also has no idea where they are.

What’s most disorienting is that he didn’t realize he had fallen asleep. He must have unintentionally lulled himself to sleep in the trunk. Not his finest move.

Quick movements make everything spin again as he feels himself moved from one place to another. 

_ Outside to in _ , he guesses, based on the temperature difference.

He tries. He really does try to push past the fog and see past objects that smear into one long colored line, but Buck can hardly feel his own body, much less track the movements of whatever is in front of him. All he knows is that the man is strong because he hardly struggles with Buck’s dead weight. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s no longer being carried until a face in front of him turns right side up. Large arms bracket his own, and he feels his back pressed against the man’s chest as he’s held up.

Thinking is hard, so speaking is completely out of the question and the protests die on his lips as nothing but pathetic whines. 

“Shh,” the man coos into his ear, breath too hot for comfort. “It’s okay. We got you. It’s okay.”

Two small hands lift his own, and cold metal wraps around his wrists, making him jolt out of shock at the temperature difference alone. They hold tight as Buck’s arms jerk back involuntarily.

“Whhaa—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” the man interrupts him. 

“Nnnnn—”

“I thought you said the drug would have knocked him out,” a more feminine, yet harsher, voice speaks up.

“I didn’t know who we would end up grabbing. I had to do an estimate on the size,” the man shrugs. “None of the smaller ones were in sight and the other man was too old. It’d probably take more to knock this one out.”

One of the small hands grabs his face then, squeezing his cheeks and forcing his head to face a different direction. 

“Seems compliant enough,” the girl notes. “Let’s get on with it.” 

She drops his hands and they fall heavily onto the floor.

“Get him on his knees,” she directs next. 

Buck’s somewhat stabilized vision swirls yet again as his body and arms are lifted. It’s not until he feels coarse ground under the balls of his feet that he realizes he’s barefoot. Long gone are his work shoes and the black socks he typically wears with them. 

His legs are manhandled to fold below him as something wraps tight around his ankles, restricting him from trying to bring his legs out in front of him. And though he’s being lowered, he finds his wrists hanging above him as he’s settled.

After some more messy movements, he finds the two of them pulling away from him altogether, and with no more support, his body sags, pressing his weight into his folded legs and his knees uncomfortably hard against the ground. The only thing that keeps him up is the chains on his wrists.

“Get the knife, Alex,” the guy says then.

_ Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex, _ his brain repeats. Would that be important later? Buck has no way of telling, but he doesn’t want to forget it, just in case.

Wait.  _ Knife _ ?

The guy enters Buck’s line of sight, coming to a crouch in front of him and eyes raking up and down his body. He looks like a starved dog eyeing down a juicy piece of steak. It makes his stomach twist and goosebumps raise across his skin. He tries to hide his face into his own arm to escape the gaze, but that just means he’s unprepared for the hands that grab at the top of his shirt.

He lurches backward, but with his wrists secured above him, there aren't many places for him to go.

The guy laughs at him. He fucking  _ laughs _ . 

“Where do you think you’ll go, Mr. Firefighter?” he asks— no, taunts. He pulls Buck by the collar of his uniform, and his head snaps forward to face him. 

Though, he can’t see much. Holding his head up is a battle, and he’s barely keeping his chin from pressing into his chest. 

He drags his gaze to the man, and he manages to catch a smile spreading across the stranger’s face. “We’re just getting started.”

An unseen hand latches into his hair, pulling his head back and away from his chest, and the man lowers his hands to the buttons on his uniform.

He tries to protest, but the girl’s other hand latches around his mouth, stifling his words  _ and _ his breathing with the way it presses dangerously against his nostrils. 

He tries shaking his head, even tries to get his legs underneath him to work, but it’s no use. One by one, the buttons on his uniform come undone.

“Mmph!” he shouts from behind the hand. 

“Think the drug is wearing off?” Alex asks. 

“No, it’s too—” The man’s words come to an abrupt halt as the last of Buck’s buttons come undone. “Stupid shirt,” he mutters. 

The man holds a hand out, and Alex releases his hair for a second. She passes him something before her hand tugs at Buck’s hair again, pulling it even harder than before.

“Stay still,” the man mutters. He grips the collar of his undershirt and slips a knife under the edge. The backside of the knife presses against his chest, making his heart race and breathing quicken. 

He expects the knife to cut into him, but all he feels is the tug of the shirt against his backside as the knife tears through the front of the material in one strong, swift motion.

The cool air of the room chills Buck’s sweaty chest, and the hand that touches him doesn’t help, either. His chest rises and falls in tandem with his short breaths, and fingers glide across his torso, tracing a shape as the man’s other hand pushes the flaps of his shirt out of the way. 

“He has tattoos,” the man mutters. “Alex—”

“I didn’t know,” she cuts in. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“I don’t know,” the man admits. “None of the others have had tattoos.” 

Others.  _ What the hell does that mean?  _

Buck feels his muscles twitch under the man’s touch, feather-light and bordering on ticklish. It makes every nerve in Buck’s body feel burned and  _ disgusting _ , but there’s nothing he can do but tug uselessly at the restraints. 

After a moment, the man speaks up again.

“We’ll have to proceed as planned.” The man twiddles the knife in his hand. “We’re running out of time, and we’ve already taken such big risks to get him.” 

“We had to,” Alex admonishes. “Ma’s getting old. If we didn’t get someone like him, she wouldn’t make it to next year, let alone next spring.” 

Buck tries to make sense of the words but epically fails.

The man only hums in acknowledgment. His eyes raise to Buck’s arms, and his gaze lingers for a few seconds. 

There’s no prelude to the knife that immediately digs into his right forearm. 

Buck  _ screams _ , tears immediately springing to his eyes and flowing down his face. 

The blood flows too, practically gushing down his arm and seeping into his sleeves and then running down his torso and going  _ down, down, down _ .

It was so fast and swift that he doesn’t even realize the man’s pulled away, content to just watching the blood flow. 

The overwhelming smell of copper is more than Buck is used to handling, and the fact that it’s his own makes it five times worse. The scent fills his nose, and he feels his body lurch, ready to throw up whatever was in his stomach. 

They stay like that for a moment, blood oozing from his arm and soaking into his clothing. If Buck didn’t feel lightheaded and floaty before, he sure as hell does now. 

“Taylor,” Alex says. “Don’t waste time. Continue.”

_ Taylor _ . It’s… such an ordinary name. Just like Alex is. 

Who were they? What was their goal here? 

“I’m simply savoring it,” Taylor quips back. “Get the book ready.”

Both of Alex’s hands release from him, and Buck’s head falls forward. His scalp is burning where he swears that hair was pulled out, and his lungs finally get a fragment of the oxygen he really needs. He presses his forehead to his left arm in an attempt to find some form of comfort, but it does little to help.

The dizziness is back, worse than how he felt from the drugs because now he feels sick, and instead of floating, he feels like he’s falling— constantly, and like he has yet to hit the ground.

His eyelids flutter as he attempts to keep them open. He sees Taylor approach him again.

He’s so wrung out and tired that when the knife meets his other arm, there’s little Buck can do but mewl into his sleeve as his skin is torn apart again. 

Tears slide down his cheeks, and Buck can’t be bothered to pull his head away from the oncoming flow of blood. 

“It’s okay,” Taylor tries to soothe him again. “It’s okay. This is what you’re meant to be doing with your life, Mr. Firefighter.” 

Taylor raises a hand to cup Buck’s jaw, almost intimately, swiping away the tears from under his eyes. All it does is spread the blood on the man’s hand across Buck’s cheek.

“Just a few more minutes now, and then the pain will all be over.”

If there’s one thing that Athena Grant can be thankful for, it’s idiots. While sometimes, they make her job hell, they’re also the reason her job is easy. Right now, it’s the reason they’re able to find out who took Buck as quickly as they do. 

The first bump they had run into was the fact that because the station’s power was out, the security cameras had been off. Thankfully, the warehouse behind them had their own security cameras on the outside of their building, and whoever was in charge there had let Athena in without any questions.

That led them to getting the license plate number, and Athena had a name and address within minutes. 

One Taylor Jones, aged thirty-five, lived in Silver Lake with his sister, Alex Jones. Showing his photo to the firefighters hadn’t done any good because no one had been able to see his face, but the description info they got from his license matched what Bobby had seen— at least 6’ 4” and about 250 pounds. Most of that weight came in the form of hard muscles, though. 

Unfortunately, those idiots had a decent head start. Even with how fast Athena and her officers had moved, they were still looking at thirty minutes from the moment that Buck was taken. Not to mention, the address they had for a residential home was just a lead. It was a long shot that they’d take Buck and head right back to the only place connected to them. More than likely, they’d be at a secondary location.

But that didn’t make the house insignificant, which is why that’s where Athena and a few other officers head first.

The house they pull up to is inconspicuous, but Athena’s long ago learned that something like that doesn’t mean a damn thing.

She takes the lead as they surround the house. She sends Officer Williams down the west side of the house, and another on the opposite to meet him at the back. Officer Stafford covers her six, and with caution, they all proceed forward. 

They knock first, but with no response and the understanding that Buck is in immediate danger, they break the door open with ease. 

Inside, the house is musty smelling and the floorboards creak beneath their every step. They reach a hallway and split as they check rooms and call out their lack of findings. 

It’s not until they reach the last room that they find anything.

In the master bedroom is a woman, lying on the bed. The space is set up like a hospital room. The woman is dead. 

“Sergeant!” Williams calls through their radios. “Out back.” 

Her and Stafford are moving before he finishes speaking, already looking for the back door of the small house. It’s a one-story house, and the driveway runs along the side, all the way to the garage situated beside what should be the backyard. 

There are no lights on in the garage, but there’s a dim glow coming through the windows. 

“I hear voices in here,” Williams reports to her. “I can’t understand, but I can hear a man and a woman, which means there’s a high chance Buckley is in there.”

Athena nods and prepares herself.

Nothing could prepare her for what she finds.

Buck’s daze is broken up by a loud bang, lots of shouting, and light bright enough for Buck to see through his closed eyelids. He’d look to see what the commotion is all about, but there’s a dull and distant throbbing in his arms that takes all of his focus, so his eyes remain shut. Something like keeping them open takes far too much energy.

Hands remove themselves from his chest in response to a command he couldn’t make out, and to be honest, he never realized they were there to begin with. Things had all become one blur not long ago, and he’d since give in to his end, trying to relax as much as possible so he could go in peace. He was hoping that if he’d stopped fighting, it’d be painless.

A pat to his cheek ignites all of the fire inside his body again, and his eyes shoot open in shock. It irritates all of his senses at once, and there’s little he can do to hold back the gasp and try to take in the scene in front of him. The room’s lights are on now, and they’re too bright for Buck to see whoever is in front of him. 

He jerks backward on instinct and the metal around his wrists keep him in place. The movement pulls at the cuts in his arms, and he feels more blood ooze down them as the pain rolls in, sharp and stinging. There’s too much to try and take in at once, and his eyes dart around, trying to focus on something— anything.

“Buck!” Athena calls out to him, cradling his face in her hands. Blood smears onto her fingers, but it’s everywhere. There’s no point in trying to avoid it.

Williams and his partner have already taken the two siblings into custody and have called in an RA unit. Stafford is looking for some way to get Buck down from the crude chains holding him up.

“Jesus,” Athena mutters. Buck’s eyes look all over her face, searching, but failing to  _ see _ her. Her heart weighs more than it ever has as she takes in his state. 

For a moment, she glances down at the symbols on the man’s chest. The man had been writing on Buck with his own blood, and the realization of what this all is startles a sound out of her that one might compare to a wounded animal. 

Stafford must have found the keys because she fumbles them at the sound.

“What’s going on?” she asks, already picking them up and rushing to Buck’s side again. Buck hasn’t been bleeding out long if the amount around them is anything to go by, but the bleeding isn’t slowing, and they need to get him out of his restraints as soon as possible to apply pressure to the wounds.

“I’ve seen—” Whatever Athena is going to say is interrupted by Buck’s heavy exhale that sounds suspiciously like her name.

“Buck?” she calls again.

He hums, pressing his face into the palm of her hand.

It’s the last reaction they get out of him before the ambulance arrives.

Just like that, he slips into unconsciousness.

The story reaches the team in pieces. The first thing they hear is that Buck is alive and that he’ll be okay, but he is on his way to the hospital.

The rest of the story comes when Athena is finally able to meet everyone at the hospital. Given that Eddie hasn’t been discharged yet, they convene in his room and Athena starts explaining what happened.

Long story short, Alex and Taylor Jones had been trying to  _ sacrifice _ Buck, an attempt at giving their mother more life and a chance to live longer. Athena had recognized the symbols drawn on his skin from an open case, one that never made sense to anyone. It wasn’t hers, though, just one of those that was gossiped about across the city. Once a year, on November 1st, a body would be found, naked as the day they were born and covered in bloody symbols.

Nothing ever came of it because the separate cases were only connected the last year, the deaths too spread out to do a proper investigation. Nothing had come up of the individual investigations on their own and there wasn’t anything to track when the killer only did it once a year.

The siblings had confessed that they needed to take a risk this year, get someone better and healthier because their mother was going to be dead soon.

They were too delusional to notice she was already dead.

The story makes everyone feel ill, and Athena thanks God that they don’t know what Buck looked like, restrained, strung up, and bleeding like he was. Seeing someone she loves in such a vulnerable and exposing predicament tore at her soul— she can’t even imagine how Eddie or Maddie, or even Bobby would have reacted to a scene like that. Keeping her own cool had been hard.

The story is enough for Eddie to demand he waits in his boyfriend’s room. The doctors try to keep him in his own, but not a single one of his friends put up any protest.

That’s when the wait for Buck to wake up begins.

When Buck finally wakes up, his limbs are heavy, but there’s a distinct clarity to his senses that wasn’t there before. 

There’s also his boyfriend, slouching asleep in a chair, head lolled backward. One arm is in a sling, and the other is extended, hand grasping onto his own. That’s when Buck’s eyes catch on the hospital gown he’s in. 

He instantly tries to sit up, but a wave of dizziness meets his head in time with a throbbing at the top corner of his forehead.

He flops back down and brings his free hand to the source of the pain, but even that isn’t a smart idea. The movement tugs at his IV uncomfortably, so he reluctantly settles, taking deep breaths and trying to recall what happened. 

He remembers being more aware than he thought possible in the moment, but looking back there’s very little still in his memories.

He remembers the feel of a warm chest that sent chills down his spine. He remembers fear. He remembers shackles on his wrists and the deep cuts on each of his arms. 

He remembers giving in to the moment and giving up his fight… 

Buck shakes that thought away, shame bubbling in his chest. It’d seemed so hopeless at the time. He didn’t just  _ think _ he was going to die and wait for it. He’d been actively dying as he bled out in that room. 

_ Okay _ , Buck thinks.  _ Now isn’t the time for a mortality crisis _ .

He tries to remember a reason that Eddie might be injured but can’t come up with anything. He doesn’t even remember the rescue that must have taken place— hopes no one let Eddie take part in that. Sure, he was a combat medic, but he’s not equipped for something like whatever the fuck today was… if that was even today. Was it the next day yet? How long had he actually been gone?

His thoughts are interrupted by Eddie snorting in his sleep and jerking up in the next second. The man winces in pain but relaxes as his eyes cast down to Buck. 

“Buck,” he whispers. He removes his hand from Buck’s and brings it to his forehead, pushing his hair away from his face. Eddie looks at him with so much love and care that Buck finally feels safe, and even though he can’t remember it all, he feels the weight of the day settle in.

Tears tip over the edges of Buck’s eyes and slide down his face. Eddie looks at him like he’s been completely broken open and laid bare for all to see his life’s pain. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, shushing him and sitting up to press his lips to Buck’s forehead. 

And Buck knows that right now, nothing is okay. He’s not sure why this happened, and what happened is still foggy at best, but this time, in the care of someone he trusts and loves, Buck believes those words.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, glad that's done with because I liked this story in concept, but I'm not sure how I feel about the finished product :/ I hope you all enjoyed it and I'm sorry about the rushed ending. it be like that sometimes
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos, as they always encourage me to write more! If you feel I missed some necessary story tags please let me know what it is I should add. If a tag feels inaccurate, please feel free to let me know about that as well.
> 
> Special Thanks to my beta reader: [soft_satan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_satan/pseuds/soft_satan)


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